Hostility is excellent fodder for poetry

"Loss of..."

When it becomes a chore
I baulk- I shy away.
When did it become a chore?
When did the warm honeyed
creativity cease pouring into my brain
and out my fingertips-

It used to be effortless.

APathetic (September 08)

Content to remain content-
A bland meal, but sustaining-

I want to burst off the page
vibrant
tangible.
I want to be the word spinner that makes a phrase
run though your mind
again
and
again.

I want to be heard
but I need to first have SOMETHING to say

Until I break free from the
"I'm-fine-busy-with-stuff-a-little-stressed-out-pretty-happy-I guess-"
Until I am either euphoric or miserable
I find it hard to create

which to me means I am no artist.